There are courses that capture your attention, and then there are courses that seize your soul. The places where the grass seems greener, the air crisper, and every design element conspires to create an experience that transcends mere sport. For me, that soul-seizing revelation didn’t come on the hallowed links of St. Andrews or the majestic cliffs of Pebble Beach, but unexpectedly, on a misty morning in Saint-Raphaël, France. It was a baptism by chocolate croissant and the thwack of Ping clubs, sparking a love affair not just with a place, but with a philosophy of golf that deeply resonates with my own architectural sensibilities.
My journey to this awakening began not with a course, but with a specific set of tools: golf clubs. You see, like many passionate golfers, I’ve had my dalliances with various irons – from the classic elegance of my first set of Wilson Staff Dynapowers, their “Fluid Feel” promising a touch I desperately sought, to the sleek, space-age allure of Japanese PRGR blades. Each offered its own charm, its own promise. But, as the saying goes, the third time’s a charm, and for me, that charm came in the form of Ping.
It was 1991, and I was in France for a caddie tryout on the European Tour. Every morning, Christine and I would navigate the fog-kissed roads of Saint-Raphaël, the scent of fresh pastries mingling with the dew-laden air. I was carrying the bag for Peter Teravainen, a Yale-educated journeyman whose pragmatism extended to his equipment. His bag, a white staff model emblazoned with “Ping,” was a testament to function, filled with Ping Eye2 irons and a Ping Anser putter. It was a revelation.
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Courtesy Ping
The design of those Ping clubs, particularly the Eye2s and the Anser putter, were once considered revolutionary, even radical. Karsten Solheim, Ping’s visionary founder, was an engineer first, a golf traditionalist second. He famously prioritized function above all else. His irons, with their wide soles, high toes, stubby hosels, and significant offset, were a departure from the sleek blades that dominated the market. The putters, his very first product, were initially seen as freakish contraptions.
“The design of Ping’s irons and putters (the Ping Anser, the Ping Pal) were once considered radical. For decades, the clubs themselves were a testimony to the vision of Karsten Solheim, the company founder, who prized function over everything else.”
But then, champions like Tom Watson and Tiger Woods picked up Ping putters, and their victories spoke volumes. Suddenly, “freakish” became “genius.” This speaks to a core tenet of architectural design, whether it’s for a golf course or a golf club: true genius often lies in a design that works, that fulfills its purpose with an intuitive efficiency, even if it challenges aesthetic norms. Much like Pete Dye’s use of railroad ties or Alister MacKenzie’s dramatic bunkering, Solheim’s designs proved that utility could indeed be beautiful.
I recall meeting Karsten Solheim in Phoenix some 30 years ago, during a tour of the Ping factory. At 84, he was still bent over a drafting table, focused intently. When I confessed my fondness for the Eye2s, his response was succinct and definitive:
“We never made a better iron.”
A bold statement, perhaps, especially given the continuous evolution of golf technology. But it underscores Karsten’s unwavering belief in his designs, a conviction that good architecture, both in clubs and courses, stands the test of time. He sought to create the best tools, and wealth, as the article notes, flowed from that passionate pursuit, rather than driving it. This “function-first” ethos is what I look for in golf course design too. Courses that prioritize strategic challenge, natural integration, and an engaging experience over superfluous ornamentation.
The Ping legacy, now carried by John A. Solheim and his son John K., has skillfully balanced this core philosophy with modern demands. While Karsten might have scratched his Col. Sanders beard in confusion at the idea, John K. profoundly understands that visual and tactile elements influence performance:
“To like a club, you have to like its look and feel.”
This is a truth that resonates with any golfer who’s ever stood over a shot, needing to feel connected and confident. It’s no different on the course; a well-designed hole isn’t just strategically sound, it feels right, it looks inviting (or intimidating, as the architect intended), and it encourages confident play.
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Getty Images (2); Mark Peterman; Courtesy Ping
The Course Less Traveled: The Enduring Appeal of Purpose-Driven Design
While the article focuses on the evolution of Ping, it mirrors my own appreciation for architectural integrity on the course. Why do I still gravitate towards my Ping Eye2s? Because they work. They offer a predictability and a feel that allows me to play with confidence. They stir memories of those early European Tour days, of sun-drenched Scottish links and the camaraderie of new marriage. They are, in a sense, a throwback statement that reminds me of golf’s enduring values.
This appreciation for purposeful design translates directly to my approach to course architecture. I’ve played well over 200 courses worldwide, from the meticulously preserved Golden Age masterpieces to modern minimalist marvels, and the ones that truly sing are those where every undulation, every bunker, every strategic hazard serves a clear purpose. They demand thought, reward precision, and elicit a deeper understanding of the game.
Think of the courses where Tom Doak has carefully nudged the earth to create naturally flowing fairways and deceptively simple greens that demand every ounce of your short game artistry. Or the classic MacKenzie designs, where the famous “cammie” bunkers seem to emerge organically from the landscape, guiding or confounding depending on your line of attack. These courses, like Karsten Solheim’s clubs, weren’t designed to be flashy for the sake of it, but to elevate the game itself.
The spirit of Ping, much like the spirit of great golf course architecture, is about more than just numbers or profit margins. It’s about a deep-seated belief in the game, its challenges, and its ability to connect us to nature and to each other. As John A. Solheim so eloquently put it, “Golf is such a wonderful game… It teaches you so much about life. There’s no game like it. To be able to play with friends, in beautiful conditions — this game has to grow.” And for that growth, we need innovative, thought-provoking designs – in our equipment and on our courses – that champion functionality, artistry, and the sheer joy of the game.
